The Appeal
by How Like a Winter
Summary: Dean is tired of waiting for Castiel to answer his prayers.


Sitting at the foot of his bed, Dean clasped his hands and looked up. He didn't much enjoy the position, but at this point, he would have prayed while standing on his head if that somehow encouraged Cas to show up for once.

"Come on, man," he said to the ceiling, "I don't have all day. It's, uh, I need to talk to you about those angel weapons you were talking about. You know, the ones that went missing. Dammit, Cas, this is important!"

Just as he stood up from the bed to stomp out of the room, a flutter of wings signaled Castiel's arrival, and he appeared in the middle of the room. "Have you seen one of the weapons?" Even as he spoke, Castiel's eyes darted from Dean's face to each wall surrounding the room like he expected to see the Horn of Truth or the Ark of the Covenant in the corner.

As he watched Castiel search the area, Dean grimaced, hoping that Cas wouldn't be so angered by what he was about to hear that he would vanish again. "Uh, not exactly."

The angel's spine straightened and he squared his shoulders, the perfect picture of a soldier. "I have little time to spare, Dean. What is it?"

When someone knocked on the door, Dean jumped in startlement. Even Castiel twitched, although his eyes remained fixed on Dean's face. "Dean, is that Cas in there?"

Sam's hand must have jerked the knob on the door, but Dean had remembered to lock it before he called Cas, and the door shuddered as Sam yanked at the knob until Dean shouted, "Yeah, it's Cas. We're kinda busy right now."

Finally the door stopped shaking. "Uh, okay. I'll come back later then."

As Sam's footsteps faded away, Dean looked back at Cas to see the angel still staring at him. "You were saying?"

Leaning forward on the edge of the bed, Dean said, "Look, uh, in all seriousness, we could really use your help with this whole Crowley thing. I mean, not that I don't like doing a demon's dirty work and all, but it's gettin' real old, real fast." He jerked his thumb at the door and continued, "Besides, Sam might be even worse than I thought."

"Am I to understand that you have no new information about the stolen weapons?" Castiel spoke slowly, as if posing the question to a child. "Why else would you call me away?"

"Call you away?" Dean glanced up at the ceiling again, and then back down to Castiel. "How many different ways can I tell you, I'm working for the King of Hell and he's turned my brother into a freakin' psychopath?"

With a sigh, Castiel placed his fingers on his temples and rubbed in little circles. "I wish that I could help you, Dean. But, as before, I have nothing to offer about Sam. When I did, I did what I could. Maybe at a later time—"

"Come on, man. We've 'been through much together,' have this 'profound bond,' you said it yourself. Now the freak's got us on a leash and you bail. What gives?"

"You have to understand, I'm at war—"

"Believe me, I get that." Dean stood so that he faced Castiel directly and crossed his arms, fingers digging into his skin. "Matter of fact, it's all you've talked about since Sam got Lucifer back in the cage. And seeing as he literally went through Hell for you guys, I'd really appreciate it if you lent a hand right now."

The angel's lips parted as if he would speak, but he did not reply, his mouth hanging slightly open like he'd forgotten how to use it. "Dean," he finally said, "listen to me. Imagine if you had thousands of brothers and sisters, every one of them the family that Sam is to you, and you'd known them for all your life, like Sam. Now, they're killing one another for no reason whatsoever, because they've lost their father."

"And what you're saying is, that family doesn't include us. Oh, I understand it all right. What'd those brothers of yours ever do for you, anyway? When we were trying to stop the Apocalypse, they were screwing with me and Sam every chance they got."

As a warning, Castiel arched his eyebrows and enunciated each of his next words carefully, adopting the same condescending tone as before. "There are hundreds of thousands of angels in Heaven. Do not assume that they all deserve to die because you've had conflicts with a few of them in the past. You saw Balthazar save me from—"

"Hey, if they want to fight each other, who are you to play head dickwad? I say let 'em tear each other to feathers—"

Suddenly Castiel stepped forward and grabbed Dean's shoulders, their faces so close that he could feel the heat of Castiel's breath as he spoke. "You say you understand, but you clearly cannot grasp my current situation. What gives you the right to insult me and order me around? I am an angel of the Lord."

_So I've heard_, Dean thought, but he didn't even try to say it. He bit his tongue, although not to stifle the words, but to suppress the pain that spiked in his shoulder where Castiel's fingers clenched him like a steel trap. "My other example didn't work, I see. Close your eyes and envision _this_ sword in your hand, and you have to use it to kill Sam before he does the same to you. Hear his whispered threats before you stab him through the heart, and then his pleas for mercy as you cradle his body in your arms. Maybe then, just maybe, you'll get a glimpse of what I do every day. It is as much Hell to me as the Hell you and Sam have been to, but there is no one to pull me out of this Hell, because it is my home. Dean, are you listening to me?"

Perhaps to emphasize his point, Castiel shook Dean before releasing him, and Dean stumbled back, catching himself with a hand on the foot of the bed. "Someone's been eating their Wheaties." He muttered the words too quietly for Cas to hear, although he probably wouldn't have understood anyway. Lifting the edge of his shirt to peer at his shoulder, Dean whistled under his breath at the five red welts that bruised the skin. "I get it, Cas. No need to get violent."

As he studied the wound, Castiel frowned and he narrowed his eyes. He looked down at his hands, raising his palms and turning them over again. "Forgive me. I sometimes forget the physical strength of my vessel."

"Hey, no permanent harm done. I think. Alright, you've got your wish, I'm done bothering you. Wing off. Feel free to go back upstairs and fight to your heart's content."

Even as he said the words, Dean's heart sank, and he supposed that Castiel would vanish in an instant now that Dean had essentially told him to leave. Instead, Castiel's frowned intensified and he said, "This must be one of those times when humans say one thing, but they mean another."

The corner of Dean's mouth twitched upwards in a smile. "You're catching on. Really, though, I get it. I didn't know how bad things had gotten. Don't let me keep you here."

Again, Castiel stepped closer to Dean, but this time he raised his right hand slowly and his clenched jaw had softened. "I would be remiss to leave without healing you."

He rested his hand on Dean's shoulder, and the dark bruises faded into Dean's skin. A moment later, the throbbing pain vanished as well. Even so, Castiel did not move to leave, and his gaze wandered away from Dean's face as they so often did when he couldn't look Dean in the eye. "I want to help," he said. "But I'm also at war with myself, just being here, when I should be…."

When he struggled to find the right words, Dean said, "I wouldn't wanna go back there either. Doesn't sound too heavenly, to be honest. But hey, we stopped the Apocalypse, right? After that, everything else is just a matter of time."

* * *

**AN: I don't like writing short fics, but I didn't really know what else to do with this... Mostly, this fic was an excuse to practice my Dean and Castiel voices. Strangely enough, I discovered that I hear Dean much more easily than Castiel.**


End file.
